Mad Mage: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 3 (Ranger Series)

by Salvador Mercer

  The guard blew on the horn to warn his fellow soldiers, and he caught sight of a dark-cloaked figure that had a rod tucked into his belt as it glowed a bright but dark ebony–colored light. The man had a bow, and he loosed an arrow, which caught the guard in the throat, ending the alarm.

  It didn’t matter. The southern gates exploded in a dazzling blast of blue light as a huge ball of pure energy smashed it into a thousand pieces. Dozens and then hundreds of undead creatures, mostly skeletons with little to no clothes or armor, poured through the breach in the outer walls. The creature walked calmly through and headed directly toward the Kesh magic-user under the tent-like structure.

  Bran wasn’t a witness to what the guard saw before he died, but he did see the southern gates blasted into oblivion, as well as the scores of undead entering the fortress complex as they fanned out and engaged the Kesh defenders. With one look at Kaz, Bran withdrew his blade and leaped to his feet, running south and leaving the Northman to his own devices.

  The Kesh charged the intruders as they were rallied by the war cry of their commanders. Crossbowman from the inner castle and keep shot at the intruders, but most of the bolts passed through empty air unless they hit a skull or other large bone. Their effect on slowing the undead horde was minimal at best.

  “Rally to me,” Hermes said, almost falling in his attempt to stand and face the new threat.

  “Krik ahoun, ko no ti bud,” the barbarian leader yelled to his men. Kaz got up and prepared for battle as the hundred-plus members of his clan ran across the battle ring toward the undead enemy.

  Bran managed to reach Hermes with his guards preoccupied, and the wizard looked at him, saying, “Do not stand there like a child. Do something to defend your country.”

  Brandishing his sword, Bran wanted to strike the wizard down, but Hermes had already taken a few steps back. He held his staff at the ready, which was already glowing a bright blue in preparation for the arcane power it could channel to be unleashed. Not sure why—perhaps it was instinct—Bran nodded and said, “Fine.” He turned and ran toward the oncoming horde of undead.

  Hork had managed to rally several squads to their magic-user’s position, and the pair started to conduct tactical missions, sending out orders for defensive positions to be manned and counterattacks to be made at certain points in an orderly manner. This had no impact on the barbarians, who charged headlong into the greatest mass of undead they could find.

  The sounds of battle rose as men died and metal clanged against metal. The flow of the creatures was from a southeasterly direction, as the main gate north and the secondary gate south were located directly in the middle of the complex where the inner castle and towers stood. The battlefield and dueling ring had been set up on the west side of the complex where there were more open spaces, and what few buildings there were, were located against the outer wall, such as Bran’s first holding makeshift prison, or near the inner walls of the massive structure that has once housed Ulatha’s noble families.

  Bran ran into the oncoming undead, who veered away from him, running by him. His sword managed to lop off the skulls of two intruders until they gave him a wider berth. He stood in the middle of a river-like torrent of running skeletons, trying to swing his sword at any who would come within range of his weapon. It was both surprising and confounding that the undead were not targeting him. Instead, they engaged with the Kesh brigands and Northern barbarians on either side of him.

  The onslaught found their way toward the current leaders in short order. “We need to get you to the inner castle,” Hork yelled over the noise of combat as it grew closer and closer to them.

  They didn’t have to leave at first, but the dead outnumbered the living by a considerable number, and this was quickly becoming apparent to all parties now. “Perhaps you are correct. We can coordinate our defenses better from the king’s tower,” Hermes said, starting to move to his east where a postern door would allow them entry to the inner complex.

  Too late, the Lich rounded the inner walls from the south and caught sight of Hermes. The creature tilted its head back and let loose a bloodcurdling scream that echoed across the battleground. Its minions fought in an eerie silence, and they pressed their attacks at the call of their leader. It mattered little that Malik held the Scepter of Death. They were ordered by the wielder of the rod to follow the instructions of Azor the Lich.

  Pointing a bony finger at Hermes in challenge, Azor increased his pace and headed directly to the Kesh wizard.

  “What in the abyss is that?” Hork asked, not taking his eyes off the creature.

  “I do not know,” Hermes said softly, his voice somewhat awestricken at the sight of the creature.

  “Whatever it is, he’s heading for you,” Hork said, and then noted, “It has a staff like yours, Master.”

  The formality was a bit late and lost on the new wizard. Hermes could only prepare to do battle with the thing approaching him. He called forth a fireball and hurled it at the creature, capturing at least a dozen of the undead skeletons in its blast.

  The undead monstrosity disappeared for a moment and then reappeared with the same intense pace and walk toward the men. The fire did not appear to effect it or its clothing at all, though the undead creatures around it were burning on the ground. “Blast this thing,” Hermes said, preparing another fireball.

  “I don’t think that’s going to work,” Hork noted as he took a couple of steps away from Hermes.

  The second ball of fire was larger than the first. Hermes poured everything he had into summoning the flaming conflagration. The impact was much as the first, burning undead skeletons, and one angry Lich closed the gap, quickly coming to within a dozen paces of them.

  “Who are you?” Hermes asked under his breath, not expecting to be heard over the roar of battle.

  The Lich pointed at him again. “You call yourself a Kesh?”

  “Who, me?” Hermes feigned ignorance.

  Azor summoned a blast of lightning that was aimed at an oncoming charge of barbarians to his west. The blast tore up the very ground, hurling a half-dozen Northmen into the air as if they were a child’s toys.

  “Kill it now while it’s distracted,” Hork urged his leader.

  Hermes did something very brave in that moment. Brave and foolish. He charged the Lich, staff in front, and summoned an electrical attack at which he was not very proficient. Knowing that the creature appeared to be immune to fire, he had only one other chance to defeat it. Azor looked back from the Northmen to see his Kesh counterpart coming at him. Raising his own staff to meet the attack, the two wizards, one alive, one dead, let loose their spells of destruction.

  The electrical energy danced around them both and into the ground, blasting the dirt and mud in every direction. For a moment, the pair was obscured, when finally, the smoke, dust, and dirt fell to the ground or dissipated. Hermes was barely alive, standing face to face with the Lich. His hands still clutched the metal remains of his staff consisting of two pieces of metal tucked in the burning palms of both his hands. The rest of the staff was gone.

  Azor the Lich had his staff in one hand and pointed again with the other at the Kesh wizard, who had smoke wafting away from his body. “You are a disgrace to our order.”

  Hermes’ body shook, and smoke came off the hair on his head that was burning through black holes in his tasseled hat. There was nothing more the man could do. The Lich would kill him now as easily as a man would snuff out an ant beneath his booted foot.

  A brown-clad figure darted into view, along with several others from the west. It had leaped over the dead bodies of his own countrymen, and as fast as lightning, it struck at the Lich with a sword, impaling the creature’s body. The blow caused the blade to burn, and a flash of energy escaped from the creature, causing the air to explode around the wound. Kaz turned to Hork and Hermes and said, “Atuk.” When there was no reply, only a confused look on both men’s faces, the Northman said louder, “Run.”

  Hork t
ook a few steps forward, grabbing Hermes around his arm and yanking him violently backward out of reach of the Lich, who was now occupied with several Northmen who had rallied to Kaz’s attack. Hermes looked confounded and stunned but managed to turn to take one last look at the Lich as it counterattacked with its staff the blows of the brave Northmen who were dying in increasing numbers.

  Turning, the men ran toward the castle, with Hork grabbing a horn from the table nearby that had held several important items for the Kesh commander and wizard. The inner castle was under attack by the undead, and the entrance was blocked by several dozen of them. Running instead for the main northern gate, Hork raised the horn to his lips and sounded a signal that had not been heard in a very long time.

  The Kesh commander sounded the order to retreat.

  Chapter 24

  Liberation

  The group ran down the corridor at a reckless pace. They had locked the cell with the groveling kitchen boss who was now the new prison warden, as well as the three servants. It had taken another minute, but Salina had learned from questioning the servants why the dungeon cells were so empty, devoid of both prisoners and guards. During the overthrow of the High-Mage and the subsequent fight that had consumed so many in only a single night, the prisoners were left to starve and die of thirst from neglect. Dorsun placed a large part of the blame for that squarely on Darker, as the one-time kitchen boss should have known that there was no food service for the prisoners. Only the urgency of their mission and situation spared Darker from a worse fate.

  They had also learned that the prison wasn’t unmanned. There were plenty of soldiers still milling about, but with no one to guard, they all congregated on the day schedule, and most of them were in for the evening. Khan and Dorsun noted that they most likely passed the sleeping quarters for a few score of soldiers on their way to Dareen’s cell.

  “Do you know the way?” Targon asked for a third time.

  Khan nodded as they ran, counting in his head the side doors and passageways that made up the labyrinth-like dungeon of the Kesh prison system. “Nothing has changed since I was last here. Only my memory.”

  They stopped at a junction and then waited for Khan to remember the way. He snapped his fingers on his free hand and then pointed toward another short hallway. They went down it, and he stopped at the door and listened intently.

  “What is it?” Salina asked.

  “Again, there should be a guard or two here. Maybe they are on the other side of the door,” Khan said.

  “What exactly is on the other side of this door?” Salina pressed.

  Khan looked intently at the Ulathans. “The High-Mage’s personal execution yard.”

  The rain fell in bands, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, but rain it did. The night sky was so dark that there were no stars or moonlight to see by. The only illumination came from the artificial orange-hued flames of torches and brands burning in their stanchions along the stone walls at various intervals, fighting against the rain for their survival.

  Dareen stood in the middle of the yard, facing the Onyx Tower. It was a forbidding fortification rising high into the sky above. Its rock face appeared without seams, as if it was carved from a single huge piece of black stone. It was wider than a house, and the small courtyard she found herself in adjacent to the seat of Kesh power was one of many. A door on the ground level into the tower and a curved but spacious balcony on the second floor were aligned directly in the center of her yard. Other windows and balconies graced the immense tower at various locations along its curved outer surface.

  At least a dozen guards were visible. The ones that took her from her cell to this place were also nearby, but opposite the tower. The door there was sunken into the ground, and a set of stone stairs allowed access from the dungeons to the outside. Another small gate and tower complex was directly behind her for accessing the yard from the outside without having to go through the dungeons. It was also manned and guarded well.

  She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed at the warden’s absence. The disgusting man caused such a fuss that the wizard Jakar had sent him back to clean the cell and prepare for new arrivals. The last she had seen of her captors was Silis and Jakar entering the Onyx Tower at the single door in front of her, and that had been at least ten minutes ago. What the delay was, she had no idea.

  Dareen tilted her head back and welcomed the rain onto her face and body. Her clothes were wet, and she shivered involuntarily, yet she felt as if she had at least one final wish fulfilled. She would not die in that stinking, rotting Kesh cell. Instead, she felt the cool autumn air around her and the chilly breeze that swept and swirled along the enemy’s complex. The rain felt as if it cleansed her, and she would die purified from their filth. Opening her eyes, she longed to see Argyll, the druid’s friend, but the wind and rain illuminated nothing but dark, thick clouds.

  She put her head back down and shifted her weight to her other foot. The manacles on both her arms and legs felt heavy to her. A bit of activity seemed to be happening behind the tower door, as she heard the sounds of muffled speech and the usual stomping of leather boots against stone. Dareen looked across the yard, and most of the soldiers were watching the tower, having no fear that she could escape. All except one.

  The one soldier staring at her smiled, and his face shimmered slightly. His spear seemed out of place compared to those of his companions, not being the right size and shape. Then she saw the wizard Alister for a brief second, and then it went dark with the face of a seasoned Kesh brigand veteran back in its place. She wanted to doubt that she had even seen it, except that the brigand guard winked at her and then motioned ever so slightly at the door, his eyes turning within their sockets toward the black tower.

  The door opened, and Jakar exited, followed by Silis and at least another half-dozen soldiers. These were members of the High-Mage’s elite unit that was housed in the complex, tasked with the sole purpose of protecting their chief mage. The guards dispersed in a column in front of the tower, preventing anyone from accessing the door, while Jakar and Silis came to stand on either side of Dareen. Looking up, they both watched the balcony intently. Dareen found her eyes going to it as well.

  Within seconds, the figure of the High-Mage emerged from curtains that were blowing slightly in the breeze, separating the balcony from the inner chamber. The man held a staff with a miniature dragon’s skull fused over its gemstone. The empty eye sockets of the skull glowed a bright red instead of the usual blue of arcane magic. The man’s robe was as black as the tower’s walls, and there was something odd about his face. He wore an iron mask, with polished glass half orbs covering its eye sockets. There was no tasseled hat, but instead, a hood hung over his brow and covered the man’s head and neck, as it was part of his cloak. His free hand held a perfectly round, polished glass orb that swirled with color, and his own eyes emanated a soft red glow from within that sparkled off the polished glass of his mask’s eye covering.

  “Hail the High-Mage,” Jakar said, taking a knee and bowing his head. Everyone in the courtyard did the exact same thing. Everyone except Dareen, who remained standing, defiant in front of the Kesh leader. Jakar hissed at her, “Get on your knees, witch.”

  “Burn in the abyss, wizard,” Dareen hissed back.

  Jakar shot her a look of hatred, and then it melted as he allowed a grin to cross his face. “Very well,” he whispered back, “but you go first.”

  A voice from the balcony commanded, “All rise.” Dareen looked and noticed an old man off to the side by the curtains, hardly visible. He had spoken and ordered the Kesh to stand.

  The High-Mage, however, seemed preoccupied with his glass orb, peering intently into it and speaking softly, his words not intelligible until he spoke louder. “Do you see her?” he said into the orb, and then looked at Dareen. “You, woman, state your name and country.”

  The courtyard fell silent as all eyes turned on her. She felt a lump well up in her throat, but finally it
subsided, and she spoke as defiantly and as strongly as she could. “I am Dareen Terrel of Ulatha, and you have no right to hold me here.”

  “There, you heard it from her own voice,” the High-Mage said into the orb. “See her for yourself, pagan.”

  The man held the orb out in front of him, turning it slightly, and Dareen fancied she saw the carved stature of a man’s face glowing within it. She couldn’t tell for sure, but then its eyes moved, and she almost took a step back from instinct and had to fight the urge to ward herself. She could only mutter under her breath, “By all of Agon . . .”

  The High-Mage spoke. “You see, foolish Arnen, your actions against my realm will result in her death, and you will be a witness to it. Watch and remember what you have done. Execute her.”

  The words chilled her soul, and Dareen glared at the man, wanting to bash her manacles together at that very moment, but she remembered what Alister had said to her. The closer the better. She took two steps forward, putting a slight distance between herself and her escorts, Jakar and Silis. She said as loudly as she could for all to hear, “You are a coward, High-Mage of Kesh. Are you afraid of a simple peasant woman? Come down from your balcony of safety and do the deed yourself, if you are man enough.”

  Despite their discipline, her statements brought gasps from those who heard her. There was rustling as the soldiers and guards gripped their weapons tighter and shifted their weight from foot to foot. Never had a challenge to a High-Mage been uttered so rudely within earshot of the Onyx Tower. A quick glance of her eyes back to Alister showed the man grinning and his complex one of joy and anticipation. In fact, so emotional was he at her challenge, that the spell he was using was faltering and his face was no longer concealed. His spear started to morph from a wooden one to something metallic.